Best Shot
by TotalFanGirl221B
Summary: My friend asked me to write a version of Alone on the Water for her. So this is kind of like Alone on the Water; same theme, but a different way of telling the story. Hope you like it. Thanks :) I won't update if there are no reviews.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock sat patiently as his friend got the needle ready. He had rolled up his left sleeve and watched as John brought the needle closer and closer to his arm. He stared at the point of it as it began to touch his skin. John could see in Sherlock's eyes what he was thinking about. "Don't even think about it." he spoke as he carefully injected it. Sherlock was too tired to come up with a witty reply, so he simply smiled and shook his head. John removed the needle slowly after a few minutes and held it. "Now, I'm going to take this to the surgery. You had better rest, and don't do so much. You're horrendously ill as it is, running around solving cases is _not _going to help you. You'll need food and rest. Okay?" Sherlock nodded. John raised an eyebrow, to which Sherlock just nodded again.

"I'll be fine, John. I'm just a bit ill."

"_A_ _bit ill? _Sherlock, in all the time I've known you, I've never seen you get so much as a cold. Yet, I come down this morning and I find you lying over the toilet throwing up everything you've eaten this week. Which, I grant you, isn't very much, but it's still something! You're pale, you can hardly speak, and you look like death." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, I'm serious! Get some rest." he insisted as he got up and grabbed his coat. "I'll be as fast as I can." he closed the door quietly behind him so he didn't hurt Sherlock's aching head.

Sherlock placed his hands on his eyes and rubbed them as they were so tired. Then, he placed a finger on each side of the corner of his eyes and sighed. He agreed with John this time; he should get some rest. He wobbled as he stood up out of his chair; he was incredibly dizzy and had to hold on to anything he could as he stumbled to his room. He swung the door open, swinging himself a little too, and then he threw himself onto the bed. It hurt him a little, but then he fell fast asleep.

He woke up suddenly and straight away saw Lestrade hovering over him. He squinted as he opened his eyes and was greeted with a smile. "Hello," Lestrade smiled to Sherlock as he woke up. Sherlock seemed confused and blinked quite a lot as he attempted to sit himself up.

"What... what are you doing here?" he asked as he managed to place his back against his wall. He yawned and then placed his head gently on the cold surface behind him. He closed his eyes but was still awake and he breathed calmly.

"You weren't answering your phone, neither was John. I thought I'd better come and see if you were alright because you normally answer your phone for new cases."

"So you came to tell me about a case?"

"And to check if you were alright!" Lestrade defended himself, still knowing Sherlock could see he was lying. "Which clearly you are not." Sherlock opened his eyes and looked to the detective inspector.

"I'm fine." he lied.

"Sherlock, you're lying in bed resting. When have you ever done that willingly?" Lestrade joked.

"What's the case?" he asked as he closed his eyes again.

"It's fine, Sherlock. You're not well. Just get some rest and I'll come back some other time." Lestrade turned away. Sherlock waved his arm weakly to him, trying to get him to come back.

"Lestrade, it's alright. What's the case?"

"You're not alright!"

"John's a doctor, he's got me help and everything I need. I can do the case, I'm perfectly fine." Lestrade sighed and turned back to his friend.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Sherlock nodded. "Fine. But if you get any worse, you're going to have to leave, alright?" Sherlock nodded again, and then Lestrade began to explain the case.

3 missed calls from Lestrade. John sighed as he picked his phone out from his pocket on his way home. He dialed the number and held the phone to his ear. "Lestrade?"

"John, where are you?"

"I'm on my way home from the surgery now, why?"

"Sherlock's with me..." John sighed, and Lestrade could tell that he knew something bad was happening.

"What has he done? I told him to rest!"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. It's my fault."

"Just tell me where you are. Has he eaten anything?"

"We're in Victoria Park. And no, he refused to."

"This is ridiculous. Why did I ever believe he would actually take care of himself?" John shook his head. "I'm on my way." he quickly hailed a taxi and ordered the driver to take him straight to Victoria Park.


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade met John out of the taxi and explained what had happened. John didn't really care about who was to blame; he just needed to take Sherlock back to the flat. "It's fine, Lestrade, honestly." John panted. "But where is he now?" Lestrade then turned behind him and looked to a bench where Sherlock sat head over his knees and his arms draped over them and dangling down. His feet were crossed inwards and he barely moved. "What happened to him?"

"Well, he was doing alright, when I say alright I use the term very lightly, and then he started seeing double. He wobbled about for a bit, and then passed out. He collapsed." Lestrade sighed, blaming himself a little for bringing him out. "I managed to wake him up, sit him down. He threw up quite a bit and now he's just out of it. He's not unconscious, but he may as well be at this point. He can barely stand, let alone walk. He keeps talking nonsense when I try and ask him if he's alright. Basically, he's not doing great." the pair stared at Sherlock on the bench in despair. Not once had they seen him like this. "After you called," Lestrade coughed. "I managed to get him to drink some water and have a little something to eat. Not too much because I didn't want him to throw up again."

"Thanks." John smiled a little.

"When you told me he was ill this morning, I thought you just meant a cold or something, I never thought it was this bad." he turned to John.

"Well he's been ill for a few days now, if not a week or so, getting a few headaches, becoming more tired, and he's been a little forgetful. I guess I just shrugged it off because I didn't really think it was that suspicious at the time; a bit odd, but then again, Sherlock is always odd." Lestrade nodded.

"Has he got anything for it?"

"I went to get him some more painkillers, but they're not doing such a great job. I can't really give him anything else at the moment, but I've taken blood tests so I should get the results soon and then we can act." Lestrade nodded.

"What are you going to do if he gets any worse?"

"I think I'm going to have to get him to the hospital," he sighed. "But hopefully it won't come to that."

"I'm sure it won't." Lestrade smiled. "Now, I can give you both a lift home if you want?" John didn't refuse; he couldn't get a taxi with Sherlock in the state he was in. "Okay, we had better take him to the car then." they both began to walk over to Sherlock.

John knelt down in front of his friend and comforted him, assuring him he would help pick him up. "Are you alright?"

"I feel... I feel awful." he shook his head slowly. "My head is burning."

"Can we help you up?" Sherlock nodded and John got himself up and then he and Lestrade helped Sherlock stand. "Are you alright?"

"I'm going... going..." he could feel something coming up his throat, and before he could finish speaking, he began throwing up. John and Lestrade moved just in time as Sherlock dropped his head to the floor and threw up a little. It wasn't so much as he hadn't eaten a lot, so it was soon over.

"It's okay, it's fine." John comforted him as he stood frozen for a moment. "It's alright." they managed to get him walking again soon and took him to Lestrade's car. They gently placed him in the back, and John and Lestrade got into the front.

"Is he going to be alright?" Lestrade asked, knowing Sherlock was too tired and out of it to even hear their conversation.

"Uh..." John sighed as he stared down. "I hope so."

"Do you not have any possible idea of what it could be?"

"It could be a number of things," John looked up. "I'm just hoping it's not one of the too serious ones."

"What's the most serious he could have?" Lestrade was quite worried at this point. He had known Sherlock for five years now, and although he liked to make fun of him sometimes, he truly did care for him, even if Sherlock didn't know his first name.

"I don't know." John said, stopping the conversation because he didn't want there to be an actual chance of Sherlock having some horrifying illness.

They both managed to carry Sherlock up the stairs and into his bedroom eventually. They took it slowly as Sherlock was far too drowsy to walk even at a normal pace. They lay him down gently into his bed and he soon fell asleep.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading and thanks to LadySnape88 who left a review :) Please leave a review after reading because then I will update more**_


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock had slept through the rest of that day and for half of the next. He woke up confused and bewildered as to what had happened beforehand. "John?" he called as he sat himself up. He got a shooting pain in his head as he opened his eyes properly, and shouted in agony. John came rushing in with some water and went straight to Sherlock's side. Sherlock had his hand over his head and his eyes now tightly shut because of the pain he was in.

"Don't worry, don't worry," John tried to calm his friend down as he attempted to hand him a painkiller and the glass of water. "It's going to be fine, don't worry."

"My head is killing me..." Sherlock gasped as his head ached. He managed to eventually grab the pill and water from John and he threw it down his throat quickly, hoping it would make the pain go away faster. He shook his head as it persisted. "It won't... it won't stop..." John placed his arm on Sherlock's shoulder and tried to reassure him he was alright, but even he was quite terrified of what was happening.

"Sherlock, the painkillers will kick in soon. Just try and breathe, please, Sherlock. Just breathe." Sherlock tried, but it didn't help him as his head felt as if it was being smashed into a brick wall over and over again.

After an hour or so, Sherlock calmed down. John had managed to lay him down and was sat beside him. He sat him up only slightly so he could give Sherlock some more water. He held the glass and poured it down gently. Sherlock lay there, boiling and sweating, concentrating on just his breathing as he drank little sips of freezing water. Then, John rested it on the side table and sighed. "How... how did I get here?" Sherlock spoke quietly, just loud enough for John to make out what he said.

"What?"

"I was... on a case?"

"Uh yeah, but then Lestrade and I had to bring you home, remember?" Sherlock didn't seem to have any memory of this, so John continued, trying to make him remember. "You had gone on the case and you passed out. Lestrade sat you down after he had woken you and he called me. Don't you remember? We helped you into his car?" Sherlock shook his head slowly, but then remembered a little.

"I remember... Lestrade saying something about the case and then I remember collapsing, but that's it." he sighed. John looked to him in despair and sadness, not knowing what to do for him. He wanted to take him to get checked out, but sitting in a doctor's waiting room for half an hour or so would not help Sherlock so much. He decided it would be best to see how he goes for that day and wait until he gets the blood test back so he could do more.

John sat by Sherlock's side most of that day to make sure he was alright. He had his moments with his head and he was very dizzy and was asleep most of the time. If he wasn't asleep it still seemed like he was as he didn't speak because he was too exhausted, and he wouldn't move as everywhere ached. John rubbed his face with both hands as he sat in the living room that night. Sherlock was asleep and John wanted to stay closer to him than in his own bedroom as he may not be able to hear Sherlock if something happened. He made himself a small bed on the sofa and fell asleep at around half ten.

It was at around one when he rushed into Sherlock's room after hearing him having a coughing fit. He barged in and found Sherlock's head over the side of the bed, and his body sideways inside of it. He had been throwing up for ten minutes and it wasn't stopping when John went in. He ran to Sherlock's side and tried to calm him down as he coughed everything up; whatever was left to come up. He was in so much pain which made him cry a little as he threw up. "It's alright, it's nearly over." John comforted him as he watched in horror. Unfortunately, it was not nearly over and it was beginning to get worse; as he continued, John suddenly noticed blood coming up. Not too much, but not too little either. Even he was beginning to panic now.

Normally Sherlock was the one to put on a brave face; he was the emotionless one who didn't care for anything or anyone. He was never upset or anything, which is why John was so surprised when he cried because it proved he was even more ill than first suspected. Of course John knew he was terribly ill, but this made it worse because it was changing Sherlock and so it must have been agony if it had made Sherlock this way. This was why it was hard for John to put on a brave face for Sherlock; he was so dependent on Sherlock doing it as John was the one who showed his emotions and then Sherlock would solve everything. Not this time. Sherlock could see John was panicking when he began to throw up blood, which made him panic even more, but John eventually calmed himself. He pulled himself together and took charge.

John made sure Sherlock was okay before calling an ambulance. "They said they will be here as soon as," John spoke to Sherlock. "You're going to be alright." John promised him. The ambulance arrived quite quickly and John went to bring the paramedics up to the room. As he got up, Sherlock held his arm out weakly and tried to grab John.

"Don't leave..." he spoke as he coughed.

"I'm just getting the paramedics, don't worry." he reassured him. Before Sherlock could argue he was throwing up and so John ran to the door.

He eventually stopped throwing up, so he was taken downstairs slowly and put onto a trolley. He was incredibly drowsy and dizzy, meaning the paramedics had to ask John most of the questions in the back of the ambulance as they drove hurriedly to the hospital. Sherlock's head banged as the van shook and the sirens shrieked, but they gave him morphine for the pain and he soon fell asleep. John watched as his friend's eyes rolled into the back of his head gradually, like he was giving in.

* * *

**_Thanks for reading, and thanks to paula. and Fangirl Mode Activate for your reviews :) Hope you like this chapter and please continue to leave any comments you have _**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Sorry I haven't updated, but my internet went off so I couldn't. Fortunately, it gave me time to write more so I have completed the story :) Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading and please review _**

* * *

Sherlock woke to the sound of beeping machines; nurses and doctors rushing around; patients moaning in pain. Slowly he blinked and looked up to the clear white ceiling that caused him to squint because of its brightness. "You're awake!" gently he turned his head to the left of him where John was sat smiling. "You've had more rest in these past couple of days than you ever have." John joked. Sherlock didn't smile, just groaned as he still felt tired and uncomfortable. "Don't worry," John's smile fell as he reassured Sherlock he was in safe hands. "They've done scans and tests so they'll have an answer soon. But right now you're on morphine to stop the pain." Sherlock could hear John but wasn't really listening as he was too dazed to care or understand. "I've called a few people to let them know you're here, including Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered a few horrible things under his breath. "Sherlock, don't be like that! He does actually care about you, you know?"

"Well why isn't he here?" Sherlock's voice was so quiet it almost seemed non existent.

"He's part of the British government; he probably has a lot on his plate. Plus, I told him I'd let him know if it was anything serious."

"It _could_ be serious?" this thought had never really crossed Sherlock's mind; he was just trying to make it through the pain. John could see in Sherlock bright blue eyes that he was scared, even though he'd never admit it he was terrified by the thought this could be something life threatening. John knew he was frightened though; nobody takes life threatening news lightly, not even the emotionless consulting detective that is Sherlock Holmes.

"I'm sure it isn't," John coughed, trying to disguise his fear because the possibility of it not being serious was incredibly low at this point. Sherlock could see past his lies unfortunately which unnerved him, but he didn't say anything. "It's a possibility though."

Sherlock needed to know whether it was or it wasn't serious; it drove him crazy. John tried to act like everything was fine, which was alright at the beginning, but it was now just becoming ridiculous. Sherlock counted on John to be straight with him; when he stepped out of line, John was there to tell him he had. When he had done something wrong, John was there. John was always there to help him and tell him the truth which is why they worked so well. Yet he was lying to him at the worst moment and it wasn't helping at all.

The machines drove Sherlock insane as he tried to sleep. With his head banging and his mind tired, all he wanted to do was sleep. He couldn't stand the noise that amplified every time he shut his eyes. It frustrated him how one place could be that noisy. He wanted to think, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to stop his head from throbbing yet he couldn't do any single one whilst he was in that place. John watched him as he struggled and attempted to help him. He tried to comfort him and distract him from all of the noise. "Why don't you just zone out like you always do when you're uninterested?" he suggested. He realised afterwards it was a bit of a stupid idea and regretted saying it, but he was trying his best.

"I can't concentrate!" Sherlock shouted. John knew he wasn't shouting at him, but at the ward and the noise flying through the room. A nurse had heard him shout and had come over, seeing he was in an uneasy state, she called the doctor over to discuss the problem.

"Let's give him some more morphine and move him to the separate room." the doctor ordered as he began moving the bed.

"How are you feeling, Mr Holmes?" the doctor asked after Sherlock had woken.

"Fine." Sherlock mumbled apathetically.

"We have your tests results back and your MRI scan." Sherlock looked straight to him and could already sense it was bad news as he spoke in a low voice and looked down; avoiding eye contact. "I'm afraid it's not good news." as much as Sherlock liked to be correct, he had hoped on that one occasion he was completely wrong due to his ill state. John didn't glance to Sherlock once as the doctor spoke, he concentrated on the doctor and what he said. Every word ached as they left his mouth. "Mr Holmes, you have a tumour in your brain and it is cancerous. I'm so sorry." he sighed. Sherlock didn't open his eyes. He slowly closed his eyes forcing a tear to roll down his cheek. The words hit him slowly but in agonising pain, hitting him like a wave crashing onto the shore. It was all in slow motion and being replayed in his head as he tried to realise it was true. John was just as shocked; this was Sherlock Holmes they were talking about. He couldn't have a brain tumour, it was absolutely ridiculous. He couldn't believe it, he _refused _to believe it. "Mr Holmes?" Sherlock had now drowned out the doctor's voice and was trying to come to terms with what he had actually told him. John realised Sherlock hadn't responded and so he turned to him. He saw him lying with his eyes shut, not focusing on the world around him. He looked at him and his eyes fell; he had to look away because to see Sherlock breaking was breaking him. Sherlock was made of stone, John had always thought, and he realised that stones could be broken. It just took something incredibly strong to do the breaking, like a hammer. This was the hammer. The words smashed down on to Sherlock, the stone, and broke him piece by piece.

John placed his fingers on the inside corners of his eyes to prevent himself from crying as he tried to calm down. "I understand this is hard and painful to deal with, Mr Holmes, but there is some good news." John shot his head up quickly and stared at the doctor. What could possibly be _good news _at this point in time? What was he saying? Sherlock opened his eyes gradually and listened to the man stood in front of him. "It's not in an awful place, so we are able to operate and remove a part, if not all, of the tumour. Plus, we can do the surgery quite soon; Wednesday at the latest." John didn't blink as he found hope. He knew there were risks, but they didn't run through his head at this point because there was finally a tiny glimpse of some sort of hope.

"No." Sherlock spoke quietly.

"Excuse me?" the doctor spoke politely.

"No." he chocked as he looked him right in the eye. Both John and the doctor seemed incredibly confused.

"But Sherlock, it could save your life!" John scoffed.

"I don't want surgery." the doctor stared at him for a moment, wondering what he was playing at. He was trying to give him a way out yet he refused.

"You've just been given some life changing news, how about I give you some time to think this through? Maybe you could change your mind?" the doctor smiled and began to leave before Sherlock stopped him.

"I've made up my mind. I don't want the surgery."

"Sherlock," John was frustrated. "This could save you!"

"John, I understand it's difficult for you to understand as you're a doctor and you want to save lives and you think I'm just throwing mine away, but I will _not _change my mind. I won't have surgery."

"I'm going to give you some time to think this over." the doctor had heard Sherlock's final and definite answer, but he seemed confused as to why he was refusing, and he was on a high dose of morphine for the pain, so he decided it would be best to wait. Sherlock tried to say he had made up his mind already once more, but the doctor left before giving him the chance. Sherlock huffed and then turned to John who was not pleased.


	5. Chapter 5

"Why? Why? I just don't understand it!" John shouted as he paced up and down the hospital room. Sherlock watched him as he did so, not mentioning his shouting wasn't really helping his condition. "Sherlock, this could save you! Do you realise what will happen if you don't have this surgery?" he stopped and shouted to his friend's face. Sherlock sat there and let him because he was still distressed about having the tumour. He was still in shock and upset, but he knew that he had made the right decision. "Do you?!" John shouted louder as he realised Sherlock wasn't listening to him.

"Of course I do, John!" Sherlock shouted just as loud which made John stop for a moment. He panted and stared at Sherlock, analysing him, trying to read him. Unfortunately, he did not have Sherlock's skill and couldn't see what his plan was. He was so discombobulated by the fact that Sherlock refused surgery that he missed the sadness streaming from Sherlock's eyes.

"So if you know, why won't you do the surgery?" John continued to pant but lowered his voice. "A surgery that could save you all of that pain-"

"Or cause me more." Sherlock mumbled under his breath. John turned to him and saw him pick his head up.

"What did you say?"

"Or it could cause me more pain." John walked over to him slowly and realised he was scared. He wasn't being horrible. He wasn't denying surgery to spite anyone, but because he was worried about the risks. John sat beside him and sighed.

"Sherlock," he looked to his friend. "There are always going to be risks, but there are also chances of it being a good outcome."

"John, I won't have the surgery."

"But Sherlock, there are always risks!"

"I don't want to change."

"What?"

"If there are complications, if there's brain damage, I could change. I could have personality changes, I could have speech problems, I could have several other things that I do not want."

"But-"

"But _nothing!_" Sherlock sighed and tried to get through to his best friend. "You may not understand it, and I'm not expecting you to right now, but I don't want the surgery. Yes, there are chances it could go well, but there's also a chance of me dying on the table. I don't want to die like that; I want to die the way I choose. And I don't want my mind to change in anyway. It's all I've got." he began to tear up. "My mind is my life; it's how I do my work, which is how I live. If that changed, if I couldn't work again, then I wouldn't want to live anyway."

"But it could work, Sherlock. Then you wouldn't be ill, then you could still work."

"I don't want to run the risk of it not working. I can still attempt to do my work now, and I will so until I die. But, if I have surgery, I may have no choice but to stop." John sighed. He could see where Sherlock was coming from, he understood his reasons, but he still believed surgery was the best option. "Maybe you can't understand that, but I won't have the surgery."

The doctor came in later when he knew Sherlock was feeling a little better; yes, he was still ill, but the morphine was helping control the pain. "Mr Holmes," he smiled as he stood in front of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Good." he lied. He still felt dreadful, not as bad as he had been, but not how he wanted to feel.

"Good, good." the doctor nodded. "Now shall we discuss your options?"

"If we must." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well," the doctor continued even though Sherlock was being rude. "There is the option of surgery-"

"I've said I don't want it"

"But, Mr Holmes, it could save your life; it can buy you more time."

"Or it could make the rest of my time a living hell."

"As can the tumour." the doctor argued back.

"Yes, but there's also the chance that I'll die on the table."

"I admit, that is a risk, but the outcome could be a great one too."

"The chances of complications are incredibly high; even if I don't die, I could still have horrible problems." the doctor sighed.

"Mr Holmes, this could save your life." he pleaded.

"I understand that." Sherlock nodded. "However, I also understand that it could change who I am or kill me, and I chose not to have it." the doctor stared at him for a moment and Sherlock stared straight back, both waiting for the other to blink and give in. Neither spoke for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Banks, but he doesn't want the surgery and he has a right to say no." a voice that had not spoken in a while suddenly interrupted. Sherlock turned quickly to John who now turned to his friend too. "Are you sure you're making the right decision, Sherlock?" Sherlock nodded slowly in surprise that John now stood on his side. "Right, well that's that." John turned to Doctor Banks who seemed confused.

"Alright, alright." he sighed as he gave in to what he believed was absolute madness. "Well, that means the only other option you have is to be sent home with medication." he sighed as he looked down at some of his notes. "You'll have to make sure to take them when needed. Obviously they won't cure it, and they won't keep you alive for a longer period of time. All they will do is lessen the pain and also prevent vomiting." he looked up to Sherlock who seemed to take it all in. "Are you sure this is what you want?" Sherlock nodded once more instantly. The doctor sighed and then smiled sympathetically to his patient. "Right, well we'll keep you in for tonight to keep an eye on you, but tomorrow you will be discharged." he smiled again as he exited the room and left both Sherlock and John to ponder on what had just been said.

"Thank you." Sherlock said after a while. John turned his attention to his friend and smiled. "For what? Allowing you to make a stupid decision? Allowing you to throw your life away?" he shook his head.

"No, John," Sherlock looked to him and spoke softly. "For letting me continue being myself in my last days." John stared into his friend's bright blue eyes and lit up a little inside. He could see this _was _what Sherlock wanted, and what he _needed. _He eventually managed to smile. Sherlock turned back to the ceiling and began to close his eyes to rest.

"I guess I'll be taking a lot more care of you now, 'ey?" John joked. Sherlock smiled as he gently closed his eyes. "I'll give it my best shot." John said quietly even though Sherlock had already fallen asleep. He smiled lightly and then sat back in his chair.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, Sherlock and John left the hospital. John helped Sherlock walk as he was feeling worse as he left. He could barely stand up straight let alone walk. His whole body aching as he attempted to move himself. They managed to get him a wheelchair to go down to the car park, where they found Mycroft stood in front of a slick black car. Sherlock rolled his eyes as they got closer and Mycroft leaned on his umbrella. "You didn't have to." John smiled to Mycroft gratefully.

"Of course I did." Mycroft shook his head.

"You _really _didn't have to." Sherlock moaned as he now sat in front of him in the wheelchair. Mycroft looked down to him.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." he insisted.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed as he opened the back door of the car. "John told me what happened." he spoke seriously but sympathetically towards his brother.

"Of course he did." Sherlock sighed.

"Sherlock," Mycroft stood beside his brother and offered him help up. "I'm sorry."

Mycroft took both John and Sherlock back to the flat and helped John lift Sherlock up the stairs. He then shrugged them off and sat himself down gently onto the sofa. "Are you alright?" Mycroft asked as Sherlock placed his head in his hands. Sherlock didn't reply straight away, so Mycroft sat beside him and placed his hand on Sherlock's back. "Sherlock," he sighed as he lowered his head a little. "Are you alright?" Sherlock slowly shook his head.

"My head is killing me." he mumbled.

"I'll get you your medication." John interrupted as he searched through the bag for the pills. He found them underneath some t-shirts and then handed them to Sherlock. It took Sherlock a few minutes to put his hand out to get them from his friend, but as soon as he did he took them quite quickly, shaking as he did so.

"You'd better get some rest," Mycroft said as he placed his other hand on Sherlock's elbow to help him up. However, Sherlock wanted to try and do things independently, so he shook his head to his brother and gradually got himself up. Then, he slowly moved towards his room whilst John and Mycroft stood on either side of him to make sure they were there if he fell or something. Eventually, he made it and he got himself into bed. Mycroft and John left quietly and went into the living room.

"Thank you," John smiled to Mycroft as he was leaving. "Sherlock won't say it, but he was actually relieved when you showed up." Mycroft smiled sadly and nodded.

"Take care of him, John." he looked to John in sorrow and despair, not wanting to leave but knowing he had to.

"I will." John nodded.

"And make sure to call me if anything happens." John nodded again and then quietly shut the door as Mycroft left. John lowered his head as he clinged on to the doorknob and realised how much everything was going to change, and how little time Sherlock really had left. He took a deep breath, stopping himself from crying, and then he went gradually into the living room, waiting for Sherlock to wake.

A few days later at twelve Sherlock stumbled into the living room and held onto the walls as he walked to keep himself steady. He'd been wobbly since he returned from the hospital, but he tried to keep himself on his feet; he tried to fight his illness.

He found Lestrade and John chatting and then they suddenly stopped as they noticed Sherlock stood by the kitchen. "Oh, hi." Lestrade smiled to him. "How are you?" Sherlock sighed as he realised John had told him as well. He didn't want everyone to know; he didn't want his tumour to take over his life, yet now it seemed it was. All people would see was the tumour, not Sherlock.

"I'm fine." sitting himself down, he watched Lestrade and John study him.

"We were just discussing a case, actually." John turned to his friend as Lestrade spoke.

"What case?" Sherlock picked his head up quickly, like a meerkat.

"The one we were doing the other day; still hasn't been solved yet."

"Of course it hasn't; I've been ill." John shook his head but grinned at the same time.

"Yes," Lestrade coughed. "Anyway, I was wondering if you maybe had any thoughts on it?" Sherlock tried to remember; he looked into his mind palace, but nothing was there. His memory of the case was almost completely gone. John could see in Sherlock's blank expression that he was desperately looking for something to say about it. He felt so sorry for him, but he didn't know how to help. Sherlock slowly shook his head in sadness. "It's alright; you've been ill, I understand." Lestrade smiled forgivingly, yet Sherlock was annoyed at himself. He wanted to remember it. He wanted to say something about it, but it just wasn't there. "Would you be able to help us with it when you're feeling better?"

"I'm perfectly capable of doing so now." Sherlock stood up from his chair.

"Sherlock, do you really think that's such a good idea?" John hinted to him he should stay at home, but Sherlock ignored him.

"It's fine; I am feeling better and I can rest at any time."

"Are you sure?" Lestrade intervened. "Because the last time you said that you passed out, and I don't want that to happen again. Are you one hundred percent?"

"I'll be fine." Sherlock nodded. John just rolled his eyes, giving up on trying to get Sherlock to realise he wasn't a well man.

"Alright, great." Lestrade smiled wearily, still not sure if Sherlock was going to be alright. Unfortunately, he really did need him. "Just be at Scotland Yard by three and I'll explain everything." Lestrade got up and headed for the door. "Just make sure you're okay though." he smiled as he left. Sherlock sat himself back down as the door shut.

"I didn't tell him." John said as he went into the kitchen angrily.

A cup of tea was placed in front of Sherlock along with a full English breakfast. Sherlock looked at it as John sat himself down. John watched his friend as he stared, confused, at what had been put in front of him. "What is this?" he turned to John.

"Well, seeing as you're feeling _one hundred percent,_ I thought you would be able to get all of that down you."

"John-"

"Sherlock, no. This is ridiculous. You came home from the hospital _three days ago. _Three days. Yet you say you're fit to solve a case?! Sherlock, you need rest! Maybe in a few days or something you can go solve some cases, you can solve a hundred if you want! But right now you need rest."

"John, I want to do my work." Sherlock spoke quietly. "I said I don't want it to control my life. If I stop doing cases because I have it then it is therefore controlling my life." John sighed angrily.

"But Sherlock, you have to understand! You're not fit to work yet!"

"What?"

"You're not fit to work."

"No, no, no. You said "you're not fit to work _yet_". _Yet?_ Are you saying I will be in a couple of days time?" Sherlock shot up out of his chair.

"No, I didn't mean-"

"In a couple of days I'll be out and about doing everything I used to? Because as long as I get these couple of days rest I'll be as right as rain in a _couple of days?_" Sherlock began to speak louder as he got closer to John. "Don't you understand, John? I have cancer. It's not going to go away. It's not going to disappear after a few days rest; it will _always _be there. And I don't want it to control me; I want to _live. _Not_ rest_." John sighed. "Please, John." Sherlock knew his legs were aching. He knew he was shaking and dizzy, but he needed John to understand; he needed him to accept it. He began to wobble a little as he waited for John to respond. John soon noticed and grabbed a hold of him as he was about to fall. Both of them panted a little in relief as John held him and made sure he was steady. "Thank... thank you."

"Sherlock..." John sighed as he held his friend up. "Sherlock, solve the case." he sighed, giving in. He realised Sherlock's life wasn't his to control, and it wasn't the tumour's either. Sherlock smiled to him gratefully and was then sat down.

"But if you are worse then I am brining you back." Sherlock considered it for a moment, and then nodded. John smiled to his friend, hiding his worries.


	7. Chapter 7

"John..." Sherlock whispered to his friend as they stood at the crime scene. Sherlock had just been analysing the place and every single thing there was to it before calling John over to discuss something with him. "John, I can't see out of my right eye." he almost cried as he spoke.

"Don't worry." John could see Sherlock was breaking down, even if he was barely showing it. He tried to seem confident and like this was just a small setback, but John could see this was destroying him; the things he had to deal with were killing his morality slowly. "It'll be alright." John nodded and turned to make sure nobody was listening. He then looked back to Sherlock and continued to whisper. "Do you have everything you need from here?" Sherlock nodded.

"Wait, wait. I still haven't checked the back room." he sighed.

"It's fine. Just wait here. I'll go take pictures of it quickly and you can look at them back at the flat. I'll tell Lestrade we're done and you'll get back to him as soon as you can, alright?" Sherlock didn't want to leave; he wanted to continue, he wanted to solve it there and then. Unfortunately, he had no other choice; he could only see out of one eye, which wasn't good for observational work. John patted him on the back and quickly went into the back room.

"So call me as soon as you have an idea." Lestrade spoke to Sherlock as he left, sensing there was something wrong as he was leaving so suddenly. John walked Sherlock out of the door, but then told him he had to go back for something. Sherlock had no other choice but to wait patiently outside whilst John went back to speak to Lestrade. "John?"

"Lestrade, about Sherlock-"

"It's fine. I know he's still ill, even though he says otherwise! I'm not an idiot. If he had to go to hospital the other day it must be serious. Tell him to take his time and not to worry about it." John nodded as he seemed so understanding. He began to leave when Lestrade called after him quickly. "But John, what _is_ wrong with him?" Lestrade asked curiously. John sighed and shook his head, knowing he shouldn't tell him. However, he had to. Lestrade needed to know; he'd been friends with Sherlock for five years, he had a right to know. John walked back slowly and his voice grew quieter.

"He, uh... Sherlock has a brain tumour." John spoke, trying to get each part out was like hell. Saying it was admitting it was real, and John was still having a hard time believe Sherlock Holmes had cancer. That Sherlock Holmes had a tumour in the one place he needed the most; his brain.

"What? A tumour?" Lestrade almost shouted.

"Keep your voice down! It's bad enough I'm telling you." Lestrade nodded.

"Sorry. It's just... It's hard to believe... I'm so sorry. He must be... Well, he must be devastated."

"He is. I mean, he won't admit it, but he has these moments... moments where he just sits in silence. He doesn't realise I notice him, but he just sits and stares into space." John stood imagining it in his head; replaying all the times he's seen Sherlock just sitting, not responding to the world around him. Just like when he got the news of his tumour. The tear that rolled down his cheek amplifying in John's mind.

"John, I'm so, so sorry. If I had known I wouldn't have asked him to help-"

"No! No, you have to. He wants this. He wants everything to be normal. That's why nobody knows, that's why I shouldn't be telling you."

"But doesn't he understand that it _can't _be normal?"

"Well," John sighed and closed his eyes. "I think he does." he said as he reopened his eyes. "I think he knows, deep down inside of him, he knows it can't be the same. But, that's what keeps him going; that's what makes him carry on making it normal." Lestrade nodded understandingly. "Now, I'd better go." he realised Sherlock was still waiting outside. Lestrade nodded and apologised once more.

"Let me know if you need anything." he smiled empathetically and John left.

"How's your eye?" John asked in the taxi as he watched Sherlock stare out the window, clenching his fist as he did so. He was in pain, but wasn't going to admit it. "Sherlock?"

"It's fine, John." Sherlock said seeming quite angry as he continued to gaze at the streets in front of him as they flew past. John didn't say anything more as the drive continued; he could clearly tell Sherlock was not in the mood for discussing anything.

Sherlock threw his coat off frustratedly in the flat and stumbled like a drunkard to his bedroom. John followed him carefully and waited until he knew it was alright to enter. "I know you told Lestrade." Sherlock spoke as he lay in bed and John peered around the door. John sighed and went in. "He can't have me on the case, can he?"

"Well, actually, I made sure he doesn't take you off it." Sherlock turned to him. "Yes, I did tell him about the tumour, but I told him you were determined to complete the case." Sherlock nodded.

"Thank you." he didn't smile, but he didn't get any angrier either.

"How are you feeling?"

"I want to rest." Sherlock spoke quickly, trying to get John to leave him. John didn't really understand why; maybe he was upset about him telling Lestrade. Maybe he was upset about having to leave the crime scene. However, John still left. He didn't bug him about it, he just left. Sherlock fell asleep and John went to read in the living room.


	8. Chapter 8

John ran into Sherlock's room after hearing him shout him several times. He found Sherlock in a horrific state; he was screaming in agony and now crying. His arms were holding the sides of his head as he screamed. "My head! John!" John was now searching for the pills on the bedside table, but they weren't there.

"Where are your pills?" he searched frantically as Sherlock cried out in pain. "Sherlock, tell me, where is your medication?" it was no use; Sherlock was is such excruciating pain that demanded his attention, meaning he was unable to remember where he had put them last. John tried to calm Sherlock down whilst also trying to remember when Sherlock last had them. He searched again one last time in the bedroom and then realised they had to be in the kitchen or in the living room. "Sherlock, don't worry, I'm just going to find your pills." John reassured Sherlock he was alright before leaving.

"But... but John..."

"Sherlock, please. I need to find them or it won't stop hurting you!" Sherlock nodded as he tried to breathe. He stopped screaming as he took deep breaths in and out; trying to control it. He was in pure agony and he couldn't stop it.

John checked everywhere in the living room; under cushions, under the chairs and the sofa, on Sherlock's desk. Everywhere. He then rushed to the kitchen and looked in all of the cupboards. He scratched his head as they weren't in any of them. He panicked as he looked around everywhere, wondering what could have possibly happened to them. He panted as he didn't know what to do. Fortunately, he realised he hadn't checked the counters; he'd rushed into believing they'd be in a cupboard. Hurriedly he searched the counters and found them on top of the microwave. He didn't question why they were there; just ran back into Sherlock's room and held them in front of him. "Don't worry, don't worry. I've got your tablets, don't worry." John tried to calm his friend as he struggled to breathe. He held them to his mouth and helped him get them down.

Eventually, Sherlock fell asleep after such an exhausting and painful experience. John sat beside him all night and until he woke the next day to make sure he was alright. Sherlock woke at around half twelve the next day and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was slightly dazed, but he was feeling a bit better. "Sherlock, are you feeling alright?" Sherlock heard John, but didn't answer him. He felt as though this was all a dream. He couldn't speak and just looked around at everything. "I found the pills." John said, waving the box in his hand trying to get Sherlock's attention. It didn't work. "They were on top of the microwave," he laughed a little. "Bit of a strange place to put them." John tried to make small talk, but it wasn't working. Sherlock really wasn't interested. He couldn't concentrate on the real world right now. He was just imagining strange things inside his head.

"What if today was my last day, John?" He said, surprisingly casually.

"What? Sherlock, don't say things like that."

"But it's true, John. Today could be my last. Any day could. One day I'll be in so much pain it'll just take over me. I won't be able to function and all I'll be able to feel is the pain, nothing else. And then, I'll slowly stop breathing. That'll be the end." John tried to ignore him; he couldn't cope with the idea of Sherlock being dead. Not yet, anyway. "I want to make sure I can say goodbye to everything."

"Like what?"

"The most important things to me, like my work and London."

"I'll make sure you do, Sherlock. I won't let this day be your last – nor any until you've said goodbye to everything and everyone you need to." John swore to his friend that he would make sure he got to do everything he needed to before the end.


	9. Chapter 9

The next few days Sherlock had had his ups and his downs. He spent most of his time either studying the notes for the case, or in his bed sleeping. He had been throwing up a few times, but the medication helped him eat more without throwing a lot of it up. He hadn't let himself out of the flat as he wanted to figure out the case as soon as he could because he wanted everything to be normal. However, he knew if everything _was_ normal, he wouldn't still be solving the same case.

John sat watching him most of the time; making sure he was taking his medication, helping him when he needed help, being there for him. Yet, since Sherlock had started on the case again, he was in a foul mood most of the time. John didn't want to ask what was wrong before, but it had been nearly a week and Sherlock had hardly uttered a single word about anything. So, on that day, John sat watching Sherlock analysing pictures and notes for the case, and he decided to ask him what was wrong. He had promised to look after him, and so he felt he had to ask him. "Are you alright, Sherlock?"

"I'm fine." Sherlock mumbled.

"How's your head?"

"I said I'm fine!" Sherlock smacked his hand down onto his desk aggressively as he turned to his friend. John was startled and couldn't say another word. "What do you want me to say to you? What answer do you want from me?" Sherlock began shouting a little. John sat speechless. "What is it you want me to tell you? That my head is aching more and more everyday? That every time I look at these notes I seem to be further away from the answer? That I can't stand my life anymore because I can't do my work and I count down the seconds until I can have some more pills that I'm constantly taking that help me for only a couple of hours and then I'm back to this agony – this frustrating, sharp, endless pain in my head that makes me want to smash it against a brick wall just to end it?! Is that what you want?" John didn't know what to say. He stared at Sherlock and saw the helpless, desperate man he once believed he would never see. That he once thought never existed inside Sherlock.

"I'm... I'm sorry. I was just trying to help-"

"_Help_? You were trying to _help _me? John, I'm dying. Asking me if I'm alright is not _help. _Maybe it's helping you. Maybe me saying I'm alright helps _you. _It gives you comfort. It doesn't help _me_!" John didn't say another word. He thought he should feel angry and frustrated that Sherlock would take it out on him. He didn't. He felt sorry for Sherlock. He knew he was angry, but it wasn't at him. John was a doctor; he had seen this before. The five stages of death. Sherlock watched as his friend sat and stared at him. He saw how he just took it all; all of his hatred. He hung his head away from John slowly as he realised what he had done. "I, uh... I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." he sighed and shook his head then buried it into his hands. Slowly he cried as he realised what was happening to him. As he realised he was going to die, and soon. John walked over to him and placed his hand gently on his back. He rubbed it and comforted him.

"It's fine, Sherlock."

"I don't want to die, John. Not like this. I don't want this. I wanted to die properly. On a case or something! Now... now I can't even _solve _a case!"

"Don't worry, you'll solve it! And yes, you're going to die, but you said you're going to make sure you work until that day. The game is on!" he shouted. "You _can _do this, Sherlock." lowering his voice, John moved his hand onto his friend's shoulder and shook him, only slightly, in a gentle, friendly way. "Don't _let _the tumour control you." Sherlock rubbed his eyes.

"I can't stand the pain..."

"I wish, I wish I could stop this. I do. I want you to live more than anything in the world, Sherlock. I do. But, this is how it is. And I'm sorry, I am. Now, if anyone can get through this, you can." he smiled. "You can get through this," John knelt down as Sherlock turned his head to him. "I know you can." he leant his forehead against Sherlock's. "I know you can." he smiled.

Later on, after Sherlock had taken some more medication and sat relaxing for a while, he went back to the notes. John smiled to see him go back, knowing he had decided that he had to complete the case. It made John incredibly happy that he was working on it, because that was his life, and he needed to do this. "John?" Sherlock called. John wandered in from the kitchen and looked to his friend. "Would you, uh... would you help me go over these notes?" John smiled and nodded, sitting himself down on the other side of the desk and scanning through some of the notes Sherlock had handed him. Sherlock smiled to him gratefully and thankfully as he then ploughed through his own.


	10. Chapter 10

For the next few days, John and Sherlock sat working together on the case. In John's eyes Sherlock seemed better than he really was. However, Sherlock didn't want him to see how much more ill he was feeling. Yes, his spirit was high and he was beginning to believe in himself again, but the tumour was still nagging for his attention. Sometimes his eyesight got worse, or he couldn't hear things. He was forgetting things more and more, and he felt shaky a lot. Yet he tried not to show it when John was sat with him solving the case. He couldn't.

Suddenly, one day, John came down with his coat on, ready to go out. "Sherlock, come on." he smiled. Sherlock didn't understand what was going on, so he stayed put at his desk until John explained.

"What? Where?"

"You'll see."

"John." Sherlock gave the doctor a stern look, but John didn't give anything away. "Fine." Sherlock sighed as he stood up. He wobbled a little as he walked, but he was determined to act normal. John noticed Sherlock was wobbly, but he wouldn't say as he also noticed how hard Sherlock was working to hide it. He just smiled to him and helped him put his coat on, and then they left quickly.

"John, where in God's name are you taking me?" Sherlock asked as John held on to him to make sure he didn't fall.

"Well, you said you wanted to say goodbye to the city, so..." he smiled.

"...So?"

"So we're saying goodbye to the city."

"What?"

"We're going around the city. Obviously not all of it; just the important bits." Sherlock stared at his friend for a moment like he was absolutely mad. Then, a smile formed on his face as John then continued to take him round.

Eventually, they went to get lunch in a small café they had once been to before. However, when John came back from the bathroom, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. He was no longer at there table nor anywhere in the building. He ran out frantically calling for him before noticing him sat on a park bench. He sighed and then ran over to him as fast as he could. "Sherlock!" he called out as he reached him. "Sherlock," he panted before sitting down. His friend watched him silently, waiting for him to continue. "What the hell are you doing? You could have told me or something!" Sherlock still didn't respond. "Why did you just leave like that?" he asked, calming down. Then, he looked around at the park and turned to Sherlock sat beside him. He noticed him staring at it all. The trees, the grass, everything. "What _are _you doing here?"

"I... I wanted to sit somewhere quiet. My head... my head..." he sighed. John just nodded.

"It's alright." he stopped him. "It is a nice spot." he smiled, changing the subject.

"Hm." Sherlock nodded. There was a silence for a moment. They both stared at nature. Both knowing they didn't need to say anything or they'd ruin it. However, Sherlock had to speak. He coughed gently and then opened his mouth. "John..." he continued to stare straight into the park, but John looked to him as he spoke. "John, what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. What are you going to do when I'm not here?"

"Sherlock, I-"

"I don't want to... to leave you. But I will. And I don't want you to say you'll be fine if you won't be."

"Listen," John choked a little as he spoke. "I know you don't want to leave. I don't want you to leave either. In fact... in fact, it _is _going to be hard for me to... to get used to it. But I guess I'll have to." Sherlock nodded slowly. "I _will _miss you, Sherlock. More than anything on this earth." Sherlock turned to the doctor and smiled a little with the corner of his mouth.

"I will miss you, too." they both stared at each other for what seemed like hours to them. Neither one of them spoke, just stared at each other, realising each of them was nothing without the other.

"Well," John smiled, breaking the gaze. "We'd better get home." Sherlock nodded in agreement. He struggled to stand, so John helped him. "I've got you.".


	11. Chapter 11

Two days later John heard shouting coming from the living room. His first thought was Sherlock's head. However, he listened closer and realised it was cheerful. He was confused, so he went downstairs to investigate and found Sherlock at his desk beaming with happiness holding the notes from the case. "I've got it! I've solved it!" he grinned. Then John smiled too and gave Sherlock a hug.

"I told you!" he said, releasing him.

"Yes, yes!" he shot up. "We'd better go to Scotland Yard." he said as he grabbed his coat. John nodded his head with a huge amount of enthusiasm and followed Sherlock out of the door. They ran down the stairs, out of the door, and hailed a cab as quickly as possible.

In the taxi Sherlock explained everything to John before arriving. "That's brilliant! Brilliant!" John praised Sherlock as they got out. "I knew you would get it!" he helped Sherlock walk to the building as he was a bit dizzy, but he didn't care. He was too happy about solving the case finally. He had done it and felt he could do anything. Lestrade greeted them as they entered and Sherlock showed him everything. All of the evidence to support his theory and explained everything in a huge amount of detail. Lestrade was also happy for Sherlock as he knew how tough it must have been for him, not being able to solve the case, and he had finally done it.

"Thanks, well done." he smiled.

"This deserves a celebration." Sherlock turned to John, surprised. Yes, he was happy to have solved the case, but he had solved cases all of his life.

"What?"

"Well it's been tough with everything going on, but you did it. I knew you could." he smiled. Sherlock smiled a little. "It just shows that it doesn't control you." he smiled, which then made Sherlock smile a little more. However, he still wasn't completely happy. He didn't want a celebration because he'd just solved a case, which he has been doing all of his life. Yes, it was harder due to the tumour, and he was happy for not letting it stop him from doing his work, but a celebration was too much. It wasn't _normal. _It wasn't what happened after he solved a case before the tumour, and all he wanted was to go back to normal. Not to celebrate it. However, he didn't say anything to John because he could see his friend was happy with him and so he didn't want to ruin it. Therefore, he nodded and smiled to him.

In the taxi back there wasn't much conversation. John tried to talk to Sherlock, but Sherlock was still confused and he was in a lot of pain to bother to talk. With his head hurting him incredibly, he reached in his pocket for a tablet and took one quickly. He didn't want John to notice, but it was pretty hard as they were sat right beside each other. "Is it your head?" he asked sympathetically. Sherlock closed his eyes and nodded as he swallowed the pill. John patted his shoulder and comforted him.

When they arrived back at the flat, John had to help Sherlock up the stairs as he couldn't walk. Suddenly, Sherlock cried out a little in pain and fell down onto the step. John quickly went down beside him and held onto him. "Don't worry, I'm here, I've got you." he reassured him. Sherlock sweated a little as he gasped in pain. John placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and got him to look straight at him. "Sherlock, I've got you. It's going to be alright." he smiled. Sherlock gasped a little more, but then nodded and allowed John to lift him up. "Is it okay?"

"Y... Yes." he gasped as they then went back up the stairs. John managed to get him into the living room and sit him onto the sofa.

"We'll go out another night, don't worry." John smiled as he went to get Sherlock a drink.

"No... no." Sherlock calmed himself down. "Tonight." he insisted. John peered round the door.

"But you're hardly in a fit enough state to-"

"I told you: let me live." John rolled his eyes.

"But-"

"But nothing, John. I want to do this _tonight._" John gave in almost straight away. He had realised by this point there was no point in arguing with Sherlock Holmes as he will always get his own way.


	12. Chapter 12

John waited impatiently with Lestrade, Molly, and even Mycroft at the restaurant. Sherlock had told him he would meet him there as he had to get ready. John had tried to wait with him, but Sherlock had insisted that he wait at the restaurant, and Sherlock always won arguments. So, they sat waiting until John suddenly received a text from the consulting detective.

_**St Bart's. Now – SH **_

John got up out of his seat quickly and rushed out of the restaurant without explaining to them what was going on. He didn't have time to; he had to get there fast. Lestrade followed him out and watched him try and hail a taxi over. "What is it? What is it, John?" he asked, trying to get his attention. John sighed as he gave up trying to get a taxi.

"It's... it's Sherlock. He's at St Bart's... he's..." John lost his breath panicking.

"Right, get in my car, come on!" they both rushed to the car and Lestrade drove as quickly as he possibly could. Fortunately being a detective inspector he could get there twice as fast as any taxi could.

They arrived about twenty minutes after John received the text and John ran in. Lestrade made sure to contact Mycroft to let him know what was going on, and John asked him to wait outside whilst he went up to the roof. He ran as fast as he could before he was too late. When he arrived, he found Sherlock stood there, in the middle of it, gun to his head. "W... what are you doing?" John spoke shakily and tried to go closer, but Sherlock stopped him.

"Please, John. Don't." John stopped and tried to calm him down.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"It's over, John."

"What is? What do you mean; what's over?" John asked agitatedly.

"Everything. My work. My life."

"How is it over? You solved the case!"

"Yes, I solved _a _case. But how long did that take me? Nearly two weeks! That's not what it used to take me!"

"But you still solved it."

"John, you don't understand. This case took two weeks to solve, the next could take longer, and then I'll keep going and I may not even be able to solve one at all."

"But Sherlock-"

"And you want me to celebrate solving _one_ case? I can't do that."

"So you're just going to end it?"

"I have to. I have to do this. Because then I'm making the choice." John sighed as Sherlock began to cry. "I've solved a case, and I want to leave having solved one last case. Not leave in the middle of solving one. I know I've done it. I don't want to die slowly because of the tumour; I want a choice."

"What about the surgery?"

"John, we both know that could just speed up the process of my personality changing – of my life completely changing. Or I could die there, and I still wouldn't be making the choice." John threw his hands in the air and sighed.

"Sherlock, please." they both cried more and more, but Sherlock continued.

"Now, solving that case was my goodbye to my work. I've said goodbye to the city."

"So I guess you're ready." John shook his head angrily, but then noticed Sherlock also shaking his.

"If I was ready I wouldn't have asked you up here. You think I don't want to say goodbye to you? John Watson, you are one of the most important things to me, if not _the _most important thing to me, and I couldn't just go without saying goodbye." John walked closer. "Without saying how much you mean to me."

"Sherlock, you mean more than anything to me. Please, please, don't do this. There has to be another way?" Sherlock shook his head.

"John, if you wanted this, if you were in my situation, I would let you do this. Not because I don't care. Because I care so much. Because I don't want to see you in pain everyday. I don't want to see you slowly lose a bit of your life every single day. I don't want to see you disappear slowly in front of me, because I care about you too much." John closed his eyes as he let more tears roll down his cheeks. "John," he reopened them. "I am going to miss you more than anything." John choked a little and took in everything he said. "Now please, let me do this." John stood frozen for a moment. "Let me do this." he whispered, begging John to allow him this. John went closer and held his friend's hand.

"I'll miss you, too, Sherlock." John whispered as he choked tears back, he smiled sadly as he let go and stood away. Sherlock was ready, and John had to be.

"John, it's alright." he smiled. "You gave it your best shot."

**_The End_**


End file.
